


Alma'm Oua

by raunchyandpaunchy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alchemy, Cunnilingus, F/F, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Lactation Kink, Massage, Milking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Situational Humiliation, TEStoberfest, You know. Just Gals bein Pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: “Are you busy?” Dira’s ears drooped as she spoke. “I, well—I need some help.”Curious. Ingun wasn’t typically anyone’s first choice for assistance—that was why the Sanctum had Adrianne, cooing and fussing over the members like a mother hen. Even if anyone did, her first instinct would usually be to tell them to look elsewhere for help, but something about Dira—vulnerable, like a rabbit caught in a snare—made her take interest.Ingun helps out a friend in need.
Relationships: Ingun Black-Briar/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Alma'm Oua

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citruspuppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citruspuppy/gifts).



> Written for days 5, 15 and 18 of Kinktober (lactation, massage and humiliation), and day 6 of TEStoberfest (alchemy).
> 
> A massive thanks to Citrus for letting me borrow their wonderful OC Dira, and also for coming into my DMs in the first place and going "okay but what if lactation". Kink sufficiently unlocked, lol.
> 
> This fic is a follow-up to [Khena](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863143), another Dira fic I wrote, so if you'd like context as to the potion she drank here (or you're just as enamoured with her as I am), go read that too!

Ingun was watching her tincture drip into the alembic when the familiar scent of earth and herbs wafted in her nostrils. It was a scent that could only belong to a fellow alchemist, and when she looked up, she saw Dira’s familiar face.

Except, it wasn’t quite as cheery as usual. In fact, she looked furtive. Nervous.

“Are you busy?” Dira’s ears drooped as she spoke. “I, well—I need some help.”

Curious. Ingun wasn’t typically anyone’s first choice for assistance—that was why the Sanctum had Adrianne, cooing and fussing over the members like a mother hen. Even if anyone did, her first instinct would usually be to tell them to look elsewhere for help, but something about Dira—vulnerable, like a rabbit caught in a snare—made her take interest.

She turned the burner on her alembic as low as it went, turning to Dira. “What’s wrong?”

Dira’s cheeks turned from lightly flushed to beet red. “It’s—well, I’m not entirely sure how to—”

“I’m very busy, Diranali. Are you going to tell me or not?”

For a moment, Ingun thought she might have frightened Dira off, until she opened her cloak and dropped her gaze.

_Oh._

Dira’s breasts were hardly small, but right now they were enormous; Ingun doubted she could even hold one in her hand without it spilling over. The tunic she wore could barely hold them, linen and laces straining, and where her hard nipples protruded were two damp patches.

An intrigued sort of noise left Ingun, and Dira blushed deeper in response, still refusing to look her in the eye.

“I think it’s a side effect from the potion,” she said, barely loud enough for Ingun to hear. “The one you and—ah—Nazir asked me to test—”

_Ah._ Ingun had assumed the peppermint she had added would serve to counteract the lactation-inducing properties of the milk thistle, but evidently she’d been wrong. Still, it wasn’t an unfixable problem, and it certainly wasn’t an unwelcome one.

“Well, I can make you a remedy,” Ingun said, running her finger across her worktable, “but it’ll take a while to brew.”

A pained whine escaped Dira. “Is there anything else you can do in the meantime?” She finally looked up at Ingun, crimson eyes pleading. “Please, Ingun. It _hurts_.”

Arousal curled in the pit of Ingun’s stomach. Generally speaking, she favoured someone else taking the reins, being in control, but Dira—she was just so sweet, so very tender and desperate, that Ingun found herself wanting to make her whine and shake and come apart at the seams.

“There is something we could try, if you’d be amenable to it,” she said, soothing and soft.

“Anything.” The patches on Dira’s tunic grew larger, and her blush deepened. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Ingun smiled. “Very well. Go over to that bench and disrobe.”

“Completely?” Dira’s eyes widened. _“Here?”_

“Oh, there’s a privacy screen,” Ingun said lightly. “We could go through to the bathhouse if you’d prefer, but I’d risk overbrewing the potion—”

Dira shook her head. “No, here is fine.”

“Good.” Ingun flashed one last smile Dira’s way, then set to readying the ingredients. More peppermint, this time alongside elves ear and lavender, would certainly counteract the previous potion’s effects. She clipped, chopped, weighed and ground, then diluted them in water, and before long the resulting mixture was simmering steadily. This potion could be made much quicker than Ingun was currently making it—realistically, the solution didn’t need to be on such a low heat, or titrated so slowly—but Dira didn’t need to know that. In fact, there was every chance that Dira did know that, being a fellow alchemist, which only made Ingun more eager to help her out in the most thorough way possible.

She washed her hands, grabbed a bucket, and joined Dira behind the screen.

When Dira had been clothed, her tits leaking through a tunic that looked fit to burst, she had been a sight to see—but even that was nothing compared to how she looked now, nude and perched on the edge of the bench. Tattoos lined her arms, intricate flowers and solid black against the dove grey of her skin, and under her breasts and along her sternum were subtler, lighter lines; decorative scars carved into her flesh. Head bowed, toes curling shyly into the stone, but there was an air of courageous defiance underneath the embarrassment; some part of herself daring Ingun to look, to see every stark, unhidden part of her. She cradled her tits in her hands, presumably to relieve some of the pain caused by how heavy they now were, and Ingun found herself transfixed—Gods, they were impossibly huge, plump and plush and spilling over her hands, the light catching the gold bars skewering Dira’s erect nipples and shining against the steady, leaking trail of her milk.

“How are you getting on, Diranali?” Ingun let her gaze rake across her. “Still painful?”

Dira nodded, big eyes blinking dolefully. Almost pouting, and oh, how Ingun wanted to watch tears run down that pretty face of hers, wanted to watch how her eyes shone as pain surged through her body, not sure whether to beg for mercy or beg for more.

Another time, perhaps. For now, she had more pressing business.

“You know,” she said, standing behind Dira and pulling up a stool, “when I was younger I went to stay with my aunt and uncle in High Rock. They lived in a gorgeous little cottage on the outskirts of Cloudspring, next to the farm they owned, and I used to roam through the fields picking blackberries and mountain flowers and clover. Hold this for me, please?” She held out the bucket for Dira to take. “Anyway, a woman named Ysabel worked the farm, feeding the cattle, tending to them,” Ingun explained, rolling up her sleeves. “She taught me how to milk a cow one summer. Explained how they would start lowing when they produced too much milk, how their udders would be heavy and tender, and how when that happened, you had to massage and express them, slowly and steadily, until the bucket was full.”

Ingun could see Dira squirming now, ear tip flushed crimson as she realised what was about to happen to her. Could hear her soft, quickened breaths, feel the heat radiating from her body like a furnace, and when Ingun’s hand crept around her front, gently cupping her left breast, a surprised little gasp slipped from Dira’s lips.

“Ysabel said I was a natural,” Ingun said, low in Dira’s ear. “Hands made for milking, she said; gentle and loving, but firm and sure.” Her free hand reached around to join the other, and she began to work them slowly, her palms rolling across the soft, warm flesh of Dira’s breast. Applying enough pressure for her to feel the firmness underneath the plush, and after just a few pumps she pulled one long, steady stream of milk from Dira.

The sight alone was delicious enough, but the shocked, pained little moan it drew from Dira made Ingun’s cunt throb. She squeezed her legs together, already feeling the patch of damp that had formed on her smallclothes, and continued kneading greedily at Dira’s breast. Coaxing out gush after gush, spurting out onto Ingun’s hands and Dira’s body and into the bucket, drawing out more moans and whimpers along with them. Ingun worked her way to the nipple, pinching and rolling the hard flesh between her fingertips before giving it a gentle tug, and Dira cried out, pain and pleasure in one delightful sound.

“So _loud_ ,” Ingun murmured, amused. “You know the screen isn’t soundproof, don’t you?”

Dira bit her lip, nodding. _Adorable._

“Perhaps I can help you stifle those noises,” Ingun said, bringing her dripping fingers up to Dira’s lips.

A moment’s hesitation, and then Dira took Ingun’s fingers into her mouth, moaning around them as she sucked fervently. Ingun let her other hand fondle at Dira’s tit, groping and squeezing and pulling, more for the feel of it than to offer any kind of relief. Milk leaked warm into her palm anyway, spilling down Dira’s body in white rivulets, skin shining with it, and it took Ingun all she had not to lap up every last drop with her tongue. She’d let Dira do the work, for now. Slowly easing her fingers out of Dira’s mouth, she ran the spit-slick digits across her other nipple, revelling in the way Dira twitched against her, back arching into her body as she bit back delighted little sounds. Brought her other hand back to Dira’s mouth, letting her lap at them, her moans reverberating through Ingun’s fingers. Sucking needily, and Ingun could feel Dira gently rock against her, hips bucking gently as her cunt sought friction against the bench.

Ingun grinned, withdrawing her fingers. “Are you enjoying this, Diranali?”

She knew the answer as well as Dira did, but that wasn’t why she was asking. She asked so she could watch Dira squirm, forced to admit her desires out loud, grey skin flushing as her thighs squeezed together.

“Yes.” Dira shuddered, head lolling against Ingun’s chest. Her fingers gripped the edge of the bench, like she was trying to hold onto some last vestige of control, and Ingun was only too happy to prise what remained from her hands.

“I’m sure,” she cooed, saccharine. “Must feel good, having someone tend to your poor aching tits, easing out all your milk.” Gave both of Dira’s nipples a slow, deliberate tug, twisting cruelly, pulling a wounded yelp from Dira along with it. “And there’s so much, darling, I’m sure everyone in the Sanctum could take their turn milking you and you’d still be leaking all over yourself, wouldn’t you?”

Dira nodded, exhaling something like acquiescence.

“What a _sight_ you are,” Ingun said, fondness underneath the cruelty. “Soaked and messy, so embarrassed you can’t even look at me, and yet I’m sure the thoughts dancing in that pretty head of yours would make even Sanguine blush.” Groped and squeezed at Dira’s tits like they were ripe fruit, humming appreciatively as they spilled over her hands. “I can’t blame you. I’m assuming some of the potion’s effects are lingering, too, making you even more… responsive than normal.”

Dira was practically panting now, breaths coming out ragged and shallow, still rocking against the bench.

“If you’d like, I could help you relieve some of that need.”

Ingun had no intention of making Dira beg. She wasn’t going to pry her open, make her swap secrets for satisfaction. She didn’t need to.

“Please,” Dira said, voice shaking. “Please, please, please,” arching against her with enough force to make her think she’d break herself in half, and when Ingun cupped her head, pulling her in for a kiss, she let out a surprised moan.

There was no need for Ingun to pry Dira open. She did it herself just fine, lips yielding as Ingun kissed her, messy and possessive, all tongue and teeth and heat; legs spreading wide as she kneeled between them. Even if Dira wanted to hide now, there was no way she could, not with every inch of her on display like this: thighs parted, shining with her own arousal, trailing all the way to the slick, pink lips of her cunt.

“Oh,” Ingun breathed, letting her fingers run softly across Dira’s thigh, “you are worked up, aren’t you?” Brushed her fingertips across the skin, feather-light, steadily inching closer to her cunt. “Poor lamb, you must be aching.” Dipped her fingers between Dira’s labia, revelling in how hot and wet she was, how she twitched at every slight movement, and just as her fingers threatened to push inside she pulled them away, taking them into her mouth and sucking greedily.

Dira whimpered, her gaze locked on to Ingun’s, plaintive and heated at the same time. Pleading with her, red eyes shining with want, and Ingun hummed appreciatively around her fingers before withdrawing them.

“Delicious,” she purred, licking the lingering taste of cunt from her bottom lip. Pushed her spit-slick fingers inside Dira, petting and stroking her walls, the swollen flesh giving and pulsing around them. Her thumb circling her clit, and she let her free hand wander, snaking up Dira’s waist and cupping her breast. “I wonder how the rest of you tastes.”

Ingun latched onto Dira’s nipple, and warmth flooded her mouth; sweet and creamy and nostalgic, and she was back in High Rock again, dawn’s light spilling across the wooden floor as she nursed on Ysabel’s plump tits. The scent of grass and lavender, kind, calloused hands cradling her head. Her fingers buried in Ysabel’s cunt, or occasionally her own, lazily working; too drunk on it all to chase release with any sort of urgency, and when she’d had her fill she’d bury herself in between Ysabel’s legs and eat her out until she was shaking with it, the heady taste of her cunt mingling with her milk.

It took Ingun a moment to remember where she was, to realise the fingers now tentatively combing through her hair were Dira’s. Soft and careful, like she wasn’t sure if she should, and the gentle reverence in her touch made Ingun sink deeper into her. Suckling indulgently for as long as Dira would allow, tongue rolling across her stiff nipple, revelling in it—the taste and texture, how the flesh yielded ever so slightly in stark contrast to the solid metal balls either side, warmed to blood-heat. She nibbled, pulling slightly, a fresh surge of milk spilling across her tongue, and the contented little sighs Dira had been making gave way to something far more urgent.

“Fuck, _please_ —” Her breath hitched, hips grinding against Ingun’s hand. “Need you— want your mouth—”

Ingun didn’t have to press her to know what she meant, and she was more than happy to oblige. She sank between Dira’s legs, suckling at her clit with the same voracity with which she’d nursed at her tits, diligently working her fingers in tandem. Curling and pressing, coaxing the want from her, grasping onto Dira’s thigh with her free hand. Dira’s fingers curled tighter in her hair, pulling her in closer, and anything shy and tentative in her touch was now gone, replaced by raw, unabashed need. Where Dira had once begged for release, now she demanded it; her hips rolled as she ground against Ingun’s face, thighs and cunt clenching at her, and when she came she made no attempt to stay quiet. Just moaned and squealed and shook apart, wetness spilling into Ingun’s mouth, and gods, it was nectar, nourishing her, delicious enough to have her lapping up every last drop.

When Ingun finally surfaced, face filthy, Dira was a sight—patches of plum mottling her dove-grey skin from ears to cheeks to chest, eyes glazed as she gazed back. No longer embarrassed, or guarded; just _looking_ at Ingun, something between awe and amusement in her expression. Her fingers carded lazily through Ingun’s hair, her quickening breaths steadying. Letting them both recover, perhaps, but if Dira thought Ingun was anywhere close to done, well.

“Potion’s still got another half hour to go,” Ingun said, stroking the lines tracing Dira’s hip. “Can’t imagine how we’ll pass the time.”

Dira laughed, giddy and merry like a bubbling alembic, and pulled Ingun back into her cunt.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter name is Dunmeris for "mother's water", which was as close a translation for the word "milk" as I could get. 
> 
> Huge thanks once again to Mimosa for being my beta reader and hype man—I owe you my life.
> 
> And thanks to you for reading! If you feel so inclined, please leave a kudos or comment—I treasure each one greatly.


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